


Foolproof

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Community: kink_bingo, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Character of Color, Fucking Machines, Interracial Relationship, Kinks, M/M, Multi, POV Male Character, Ridiculous, Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, fun sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how the saying goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foolproof

**Author's Note:**

> I am filing this fic under ridiculous, and after half a year, I'm posting it.

**Step I: The Plan**

Jensen has a plan — Grade A, foolproof, and _awesome_. And he knows that the best way to implement this plan is to not go to the guy who's good at plotting them — one Lt. Col. Franklin Clay, big daddy badass leader of the formerly covert A-level team known as the Losers, even though they kicked ass at _everything_. Nope, Jensen goes to one Linwood "Pooch" Porteous, whose name still makes Jensen snort a little because, dude, _Linwood_?

Jensen rubs his nose and coughs into his hand to clear the last of the laugh he can feel bubbling up from his throat — wouldn't be a good start to laugh at the guy who builds awesome shit — and drops onto the couch next to Pooch.

"Hey, Pooch," he says, innocuous and smooth, as Pooch channel surfs. "You're good with your hands, right?"

Pooch gives Jensen one of those long looks like he wants to say no on principle, but he's _maybe_ willing to hear Jensen out first. "Yeah. And?"

Jensen drapes an arm across Pooch's shoulders to further endear him to the greatness of Jensen's idea. "And my birthday is coming up." Guaranteed to engender warm feelings of 'of course I'll do this thing for my boyfriend who never asks for anything on his birthday because he's always got the latest and greatest.' Minus the dinosaur toy set that Jensen asked for last year.

"So ... ." Pooch trails off, eyebrows furrowed together like he's ticking off some ideas about what Jensen wants, and Jensen gives Pooch all the time in the world to think through other potential gift ideas. "What?" Pooch glances at him. "You want a birthday handjob?"

"No—" Fortunately, Jensen's brain puts the brakes on his mouth, and he shakes his head. Close call there. Too close. "I mean, _yes_ , that would be great." He hugs Pooch closer and squeezes his shoulder. "But what I really want for my birthday is a fucking machine."

Pooch raises an eyebrow. "I know you kiss Jolene with that mouth—"

"No, Pooch, not a fucking _machine_ but a _fucking_ machine." Pooch stares, and Jensen tries to rephrase. "You know, one of those machines ... ." And by the expression on Pooch's face, he clearly doesn't know, so Jensen waves a hand and changes tactics. "It's like the Energizer bunny. It keeps going and going and going ... ."

"A ... ," Pooch says like he's starting to get it.

Jensen nods, mouth pulled into a grin that's probably taking over his face. "A fucking machine."

Pooch snorts. There's not even a pause to see if Jensen is serious, which Jensen _is_ — you don't joke about things like birthdays and fucking machines — before Pooch is doubled over laughing.

"Oh, come on, Pooch." Jensen straightens on the couch to argue his case. "It's very DIY, and you're the guy who built a rocket launcher and rigged all of our transpo. Black-Gyver, remember? A fucking machine isn't impossible for you."

Pooch shakes his head and pretends to swipe away a few tears. "Yeah, it is, 'cause it's not gonna happen. A fucking machine." Pooch pushes himself off the couch with a chuckle and another shake of his head. "Wait 'til Jolene hears this."

Well. That didn't go as planned.

 **Step 2: Get ~~A Partner In Crime~~ An Ally**

Jensen can always tell Jolene's behind him by the scent of her shampoo. It's some lavender, flower-something product that he notices only because it doesn't assault his senses. It's very low-key, very demure. He tilts his head, and she pecks his cheek.

"So what are you up to?"

"Hey, Jo," Jensen says with a heavy sigh. "Nothing much. Just playing one of those stupid computer games to pass the time."

"Something on your mind?" Jolene's hands curl around his shoulders, and she starts massaging him, attacking all the muscles knotted in his neck. How is he supposed to resist that?

"Pooch won't build me a fucking machine."

Jolene stops moving, and Jensen's pretty sure that that sound behind him is the snicker of an aborted laugh. "Is that what you want for your birthday?" she asks, and she is definitely laughing. She's doing a great job of suppressing it, but Jensen hears the breathless tone in her voice and _knows_.

"Yes," Jensen says immediately and pulls away so he can turn to face her. He is not above giving her the kicked puppy look. "I _know_ Pooch could do it. He rebuilt a—Well. That's classified, but he may or may not have built something out of scraps and a rigged engine under severe time constraints, _which_ led to a successful mission in which all parties who may or may not have been involved came out of it very alive. Given the circumstances, which may or may not have happened, the alleged parties weren't even injured."

Jolene smiles, and when he sees her dimples, he knows she's humoring him. "So this is really what you want for your birthday?"

Jensen straightens with an emphatic, " _Yes_."

Jolene cups his cheek and then presses a kiss to his forehead. "All right."

He tries really hard not to jump for joy, and he doesn't even think to ask how Jolene knew what a fucking machine was but Pooch didn't.

 **Step 3: ~~Mope~~ Beg Because (It's a Turn On _And_ ) Everything Else is Failing**

 _Days_ pass with no sign of a fucking machine, and Jensen can't believe Pooch would really deny him this.

He drops to his stomach and stares at Pooch under the car. "Come on, Pooch. Please?"

"No."

"It's—"

"I know exactly what it is—"

"—just a fucking machine and you have all of these—"

"Why are you even asking for—"

"—parts lying around the garage—"

"Yeah. For Jo's car."

Jensen rolls onto his back and huffs out a sigh. "It's for my birthday."

"I know what you're trying to do," Pooch says from under the car. "You're trying to bait the Pooch, but the Pooch will not be baited."

"But it's my _birthday_ ," Jensen repeats.

"So I'll blow you."

Jensen groans because his dick starts to get hard at the thought, but a _fucking machine_. "Yeah, but—"

There's a sound of a tool clattering to the floor, and Jensen hightails it out before he gets something thrown at his head.

 **Step 4: VICTORY (But Act Surprised Anyway)**

 _Happy birthday to me._ Jensen slumps onto the couch, drops his head back and breathes out a heavy and lengthy sigh. Not only did he _not_ get a fucking machine; he didn't even get cupcakes or balloons or—

He nearly jumps when Jo's hands cover his glasses, but the kiss she presses to the top of his head immediately relaxes him.

"Do you want a blindfold or my hands?" she asks.

Jensen's mouth goes dry. "Are we walking somewhere?"

"Yes."

"Blindfold."

Jensen swallows when Jo pulls his glasses away. He wants to start looking around, even though everything is blurred and fuzzy, but he stays right where he is until Jo lifts his head and secures a blindfold over his eyes.

"Good?" she asks.

Jensen can't form words — he knows in his heart of hearts that Pooch built his fucking machine; he just _knows it_ — so he nods instead.

"Up."

He follows the pressure of her hand on his arm and stands. Her fingers intertwine with his, squeeze, and then she leads him forward. It's a short walk, but it builds Jensen into an 'open all the gifts right now' kind of excitement that makes him jittery and hasty. It's only Jo's hand in his that keeps him moderately still because he's ready to bolt into the room and get his gift.

They stop, and before Jolene even asks, he says, "I'm ready. I wanna see it."

She laughs; the blindfold comes off; and Jensen blinks. He narrows his eyes, pretty sure that Pooch is standing next to a ... something? Something that looks like an exercise machine. Sort of. Jolene slips Jensen's glasses into his palm. He wipes the lenses with his shirt before he puts them on, and ... He was right! Pooch built him a fucking machine.

"Ah, Pooch, you shouldn't have," Jensen says even as he steps forward for a closer look. He wonders if Pooch has given it a name and what it would be and his heart beats really hard, really fast when he sees how the dildo is angled on the machine. It puts Jensen on his hands and knees and—

"You're right. I shouldn't have." Pooch claps Jensen on the shoulder. "But you said this is what you wanted, so happy birthday, man."

Jo's hand rests low on Jensen's back, and she smiles at him with the same giddy excitement that he's sure is all over his face. "Do you want to try it out?" she asks. "I asked Liz to watch Jamaar, so we have the day to ourselves."

Jensen's heart bursts out the gate in a mad rush of 'yes', 'holy crap', and an almost 'I can't believe this is really happening,' and he's midway to yanking off his T-shirt when the collar snags on his glasses. "Of course I wanna try it out."

They're laughing at him, but Jensen doesn't even care right now. What he cares about are Jo's fingers sliding up his sides and the shiver that chases after her touch. She takes his glasses and walks off with them, probably putting them on the bed or on the dresser, somewhere where they won't get broken. Jensen has a spare pair, but cleaning up glass from the carpet isn't a pleasant way to start testing the fucking machine.

Jensen nearly jumps when Pooch's arms circle his waist from behind — or apparently Jensen's just sensitive to everything right now because his breath hitches at the feel of Pooch's mouth at his ear — "You owe me."

"Put it on my"—Jensen blows out a breath because Pooch's hand is sliding over the very prominent bulge in his pants—"tab?"

Jensen can't get naked fast enough, but Pooch somehow decides that steady is the course and plants his free hand on Jensen's chest and pulls him straight. Then Pooch works really, really slowly on the naked front.

"Come on, Pooch. Weeks. It's been _weeks_."

Pooch draws away once Jensen's pants are undone, and Jensen jerks them down. He gets smacked on the ass but guesses he asked for it since he bent over. It's no big deal. Pooch never puts anything behind it. Now Jo? She's the one he has to worry about. And as if conjured.

Jolene cups Jensen's face when he straightens, pants and underwear gone, and she's standing close enough that he can see her ever-present smile.

"Happy birthday, sweetie." She kisses him. It's short and sweet and close-mouthed, but Jensen's cock is twitching between them, trapped, and everybody needs to be naked right now.

But Jensen's not running the show, not with Jolene's hands pressing down on his shoulders until he realizes what she wants. He sinks down to his knees, surprised to find one of their memory foam pillows beneath him, which brings his thoughts right back to the fucking machine. Yeah, rug burn would kind of put a damper on that.

The rest of Jensen's thoughts stutter out when Jolene's fingers trail down his spine. She doesn't have to push for Jensen to get on his hands. He shivers when her fingertips brush down one ass cheek and then her nails scratch up the other one, and he's moaning by the time she spreads him, his fingers curled tightly into the short strands of the carpet. Pooch pushes one finger in, and Jensen's ready to drop to his elbows. He drops his head instead, locking his arms to keep himself upright, because there's no way he's losing it this soon.

"Breathe, Jensen," Jo says, and oh yeah, that's kind of important, too.

Jensen releases the breath he'd been holding and makes a show of sucking in another one only to nearly choke on it when Pooch starts thrusting and crooking and _rubbing_ one finger inside Jensen, slick and slow and _fantastic_ —

"Don't tease him, baby."

Pooch laughs. "But that's the fun part."

Jensen's about to chime in with his own two cents but then he's getting stretched with two fingers, slow push in, slow pull out— He jerks when Pooch rubs his prostate, the jolt of sensation too much all at once, but Pooch yanks Jensen back, right onto his fingers, and Jensen's weak-kneed and _ready_. He screws his hips back, starts rocking when Pooch keeps moving at the same steady pace like this isn't _Jensen's birthday_ —

Jensen opens his eyes, surprised that they were even closed, when he feels Jo's hands on his face, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones. She brushes her lips over his forehead and down his nose and the kiss is just as sweet as the first, as all of them—

Then he feels it — the slick slide of the dildo, firm and relentless. The sound Jensen makes gets muffled by the press of Jo's lips, and she pulls away.

"Best birthday gift ever," Jensen gasps. "I'm telling you. _Best_."

Jolene softly laughs and strokes back his hair, and Jensen remembers to breathe, sucking in as much air as he can only to blow it out in one long whoosh when the dildo slides out. Before he can catch his breath or adjust to the feel of it, it's thrusting into him again, but that is A-okay with Jensen because he wants to thank whatever's out there that _this_ is his life right now.

And it's good — so, so good — that he can't think because each thrust is perfect and hard and unrelenting, and Jensen's brain can just boldly _go_. Jo adds to it, her palm on his cheek, the fingers of her other hand on his neck making him shiver. It can't get better, Jensen thinks. That is until her lips — wow, her lips — warm and soft on his cheek, the tip of his nose, up the bridge and then pressing sweetly to his forehead. Jensen is shaking so badly that he's not sure his arms will hold him much longer, but he asked for this, _just like this_.

He lifts his head and whimpers for another kiss. Jo's palms fit against his cheeks, keep him still, which is a _feat_ , because the dildo up Jensen's ass doesn't equal anything close to 'stay still.' Her mouth slants over his, and he moans like a porn star, lips parting to take the warm thrust of her tongue.

The sweat on the back of his neck — between his shoulder blades, behind his knees, _all over_ — is starting to tickle, but the machine doesn't stop. Or _Pooch_ doesn't stop. Or, Jensen guesses, neither one of them will quit. Pooch keeps turning the lever — or crank or whatever the hell makes the machine go — and the dildo keeps filling him, and Jensen is pretty sure that _this_ is what getting fucked into next week feels like. He can now check that off the list of 'things to do before dying a horrible, secret death' and mentally adding it to the list of 'things that should be done all the time.'

Another thrust and Jensen gasps against Jo's mouth, arching until their lips are crushed together. He whimpers again when her teeth sink into his bottom lip and tug. Nothing hard, just a playful nip that barely registers on Jensen's anything because he's too busy wanting this to _never stop_ even as he arches away from the next thrust — too full, too much, too fast. Or as steady as she blows because it's not like the pace has changed since Pooch started it up, and Pooch's hand closes around Jensen's thigh and tugs him back — holy _mother_.

Jensen can't stop making all of these _sounds_. Pure gibberish. He can't think coherently enough to even string the correct order of letters together to say, _Please, hell to the effing yes_ as code for 'someone touch my dick right fucking _now_.' All of this feels great — better than great, better than _better_ than great — but Jensen needs someone to touch him, to give him that last sweet zing that he needs to go _bang_ , straight to the moon.

He tries desperately to convey it, but his moans can just as easily be translated to 'more' or 'don't stop,' which is all _true_ , but Jensen _needs_. Some telepathy or something, even though he's not sure his telepathic mode of communication would be any more coherent than the sounds bubbling up from his throat.

He shoots a hand out when the dildo thrusts, scrambling for something — a connection, a person on the other end of the line. Bingo. He squeezes Jo's knee and the next thrust has him scrambling forward to grab her thigh with his other hand. Her fingers slide through his hair and get the damp, ticklish strands off the back of his neck and continue on through the sweat gathered between his shoulder blades.

"You are so hot," she whispers in his ear and then bites his earlobe. Jensen _whimpers. Again_. "Had enough, baby?"

Jensen thinks: yes, yes, _yes_ , but what comes out isn't nearly so clear. It's more of an "Unh-fu" grunt. But he squeezes her thigh, eyes tightly shut at the pounding he's receiving, and tries for a harsh, " _Yes_."

Her lips brush his temple and then she's pulling away, which is the opposite of what Jensen wants. He makes a sound, low and needy and desperate, blindly reaching for her again. Hand on his shoulder, good, and Pooch's hand, too, on his thigh. Jensen drops to his elbows when Jo's — he's guessing Jo's — fingers wrap around his cock. Firm, tight grip, one sharp tug — definitely Jo.

She whispers dirty things in his ear, too, like 'we love you' and 'happy birthday,' and this is the happiest day of Jensen's _life_.

His spine bows so sharp and sudden that he's sure he's popped something — several somethings — but it's worth it, to arch into Jo's fist and rub himself off against her palm as he's getting fucked from behind, his climax is like a white out. Blank screen. Glorious.

Jensen doesn't know at what point the machine stops or at what point he regains consciousness, he just knows he's slumped on the floor, boneless, his whole body buzzing, his ears ringing, and blissed out of his _mind_.

The hand rubbing his back feels like Jo's, but Jensen's too dazed to catalog anything but the fact that his brain pretty much vacated via a trip south through his dick.

Definitely Jo's hand on his back because the broader one curled around his thigh has to be Pooch and _oh, yeah_. Pooch starts massaging the muscles, and Jensen has to flop onto his back with another incoherent sound of contentment. He lies on the floor for _hours_ — probably what, in all actuality, amounts to minutes but that's not important — with their hands in his hair, on his face, massaging his thighs and his arms. Jensen can't imagine not having this, not being right here.

Jo hovers over him, her hair tickling his face, and Jensen closes his eyes. She kisses his forehead instead of his lips, but he's got absolutely no complaints. Anyway, Jo's making her own path there, across the bridge of his nose, left cheek, then the right, and home base is his mouth.

And when she pulls away, Jensen knows his first words oughtta be 'thanks' or 'I owe you' or 'I love you guys with more words than I'm capable of right now.' But this is _Jensen_ , and after getting fucked like that, what else is he supposed to say?

"Hey, Pooch." His throat is dry and scratchy, but that doesn't thwart him. The laugh interrupts, though, but he can't keep himself from snickering at his own terrible joke, especially knowing that Pooch will probably _kill_ him, but—"If you build it, they will come."

Jo laughs, her fingers still moving soft in his hair. "Oh, Jensen, baby."

"See, man, this is why you don't get nice things," Pooch mutters with a light slap to Jensen's thigh.

Jensen leaves it at that, 'cause he wants to get those very nice things again later on today.


End file.
